


What's It Gonna Be?

by peachy_chulanont



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Bisexual Character, F/F, Friends to Lovers, Implied SeungChuChu - Freeform, POV Yuri Plisetsky, Sexual Identity, Slice of Life, Spin the Bottle, Underage Drinking, background victuri, catching feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-05
Updated: 2018-01-05
Packaged: 2019-02-28 11:19:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13270356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peachy_chulanont/pseuds/peachy_chulanont
Summary: A night of shenanigans after the GPF includes playing Spin-the-Bottle - and apparently, it's enough to push Mila Babicheva into questioning her sexuality. That's all fine, except she's decided to come to Yuri Plisetsky for advice... and before long, there's a small network of skaters working to facilitate a possible relationship between the third and fourth ranked women's single skaters.title taken from Shura's song of the same name





	What's It Gonna Be?

**Author's Note:**

> This has been an idea I've had for a while - a fic where the POV isn't from someone in a relationship, but someone watching these events take place and seeing how everything ends up. I know that when I'm in a relationship or questioning my feelings, I turn first to my friends. In this case, that's exactly what Mila did, too. I hope you enjoy!
> 
> a playlist for this work can be found [here  ](https://open.spotify.com/user/deathbyblondie/playlist/2CL8ZOyGTfTA7IVrzLm4rR)
> 
> there's some underage drinking here on Yuri's behalf; I don't claim to know a lot about alcohol because I'm straightedge, so please take it with a grain of salt. also, unless explicitly stated, assume that conversations between yuri and mila or otabek are in russian

      After the banquet celebration ended the skaters usually ended up in each other's rooms, up to one thing or another. Relationships like Chris and Viktor’s were common – often, the end of the season was a great excuse to put rivalries aside and catch up as friends in the tipsy afterglow of the banquet. Yuri ended up in Mila's room, stretched out on the foot of her bed, somewhat inebriated on stolen champagne and frustrated with emotions he couldn’t put a name to. His skin was crawling; he’d always planned on spending the banquet following his senior debut throwing his success in Viktor’s face, on being showered in praise.

      The derailing of plans was always something like nails on chalkboard to Yuri.

      There was no _way_ he was going back to the room he was sharing with Georgi, who was enthusiastically courting a former student of Lilia's at the (desperate, exhausted) suggestion of Yakov. Not that Mila was much better. Though she wasn't waxing poetic about the delights of young love, Mila was talking endlessly, mindlessly, and the TV was a rumble of foreign speech Yuri didn’t have the desire to try and discern. Yuri had wanted to call Otabek to see if he could crash _his_ hotel room, but refrained at the last moment, suddenly afraid of intruding, of expecting too much of their friendship.

      Finally, Mila noticed that Yuri wasn’t responding to her commentary over the shitty Spanish-dubbed American movie playing on the TV with his usual vitriol. “What’s wrong, kid?” she asked, sitting up from where she’d been lying on the floor so she could face Yuri.

      “I’m not a kid, you hag,” Yuri hissed, rolling over so he wouldn’t have to see the concern in her stupid eyes. Mila waited, though, shifting around to sit with her back against the bed. Yuri could hear the soft rustle of her dress against the bedsheets with each breath she took. It was soothing. Softly, not sure if he was really speaking (and halfway hoping he wasn’t), Yuri said, “It’s just lonely. Everyone’s busy; things aren’t the way they’re meant to be.”

      Mila hummed before repeating, “Everyone?” Yuri knew that if he faced Mila again, she would be wrinkling her nose. “Vitya and his Yuuri aren’t _everyone_ , Yura.”

      Yuri only harrumphed, not sure if he should snap at Mila for the insinuation or to argue that Viktor and Yuuri absolutely _were_ ‘everyone’ to him. He didn’t need to choose, though, because Mila was already speaking again. “Anyway, not everyone is busy. I can invite some people over, would you like that?”

      “I guess,” Yuri muttered, rolling over again so he was staring at the ceiling instead of the headboard. He heard the pop of Mila’s knees and the hissed curse as she stood and mentally made a note to tell her to ice her joints if she valued beating the Crispino girl in competition.

      “You should invite Otabek, don’t you think?” Mila asked. Her back was to him, so he could’ve pretended he didn’t hear her, but instead Yuri cursed the burning in his cheeks and pulled his phone from his pocket, sending a text to his friend before he could properly think about it.

      Finally sitting up, Yuri looked over to the kitchenette where Mila was checking the contents of the mini fridge. She caught his eye over her shoulder and smiled. “All I have here is some orange juice and granola bars. Sara and Michele are going to bring some of the pastries they saved at the banquet.”

      “Ugh, Michele is the worst,” Yuri complained.

      Mila shrugged. “I’m sure Emil is coming, too, don’t worry.”

      “I’m not worried!” Yuri snapped, jumping to his feet. The blood rushed to his head and it was all he could do not to stagger.

      “I know, I just mean Michele is usually bearable around Emil. Did Otabek reply?”  Mila made her way over to the stand where her luggage sat and began rummaging around.

      Yuri glanced at his phone, still clutched tight in his grip, but the blank screen hadn’t changed. No, Otabek hadn’t replied. It felt too final to say that out loud, though, so Yuri didn’t answer Mila. Instead, he watched her pluck a rumpled button-up and a pair of leggings from the mess of her luggage.

      “What are you doing?” he asked suspiciously as she started walking toward the door.

      She pointed, apparently to the bathroom door out of sight around the corner from where Yuri stood. “I’m getting out of this dress, silly. Unless you want me to change here… no? Alright then, I’m going. And these _tights_ , dear _god_ …”

      When Otabek did reply several minutes later (with a single word – _конечно_ ), Yuri nearly burst into the bathroom in his haste to tell Mila. He caught himself with his hand on the doorknob and froze, wondering for a moment why he even cared so much. Stupid – it was probably the champagne making him act funny… he made a silent vow not to ever drink alcohol again.

      Mila had heard his footsteps, though, and was able to reach a conclusion. “Tell him to come over now and you two can go buy some sodas from the vending machine,”

      Sodas – that was most likely out of pity for Yuri, who couldn’t legally drink in Russia or Spain, or _anywhere_ really. He swallowed his irritation, though, and returned to his perch on the bed. Anyway, he’d just vowed to stay away from alcohol.

      When Otabek knocked on Mila’s door, it was a quarter to midnight. Mila had apparently realized how much of a mess she’d made of her room in the few short days they’d been in Spain and was rushing around, trying to tidy the place up. Mila dropped the clothes she’d gathered off the floor at the knock on the door, but Yuri shot her a look that had her rolling her eyes and going back to the clothes, leaving Yuri to open the door. Not that he let Otabek in – instead, he shouldered past him into the hall.  “Come on.”

      They finally located the vending machines tucked into a corner at the end of the hall by the staircase. Yuri knew it was silly, but he missed seeing vending machines with Dushes and Fruktime and Elbrus. He found himself telling this to Otabek, who only nodded in the solemn way of his. Yuri didn’t expect anything more; he was already used to the laconic manner in which Otabek operated. Because of this, he was startled when Otabek spoke a moment later.

      “When I was training in Canada, there was a soda – it was called Cott’s, flavored with black cherry. They don’t have anything like it in Almaty…”

      Yuri didn’t know how to respond, but found he didn’t have to, as Otabek reached out and tapped a label on the vending machine. “Mirinda. My English is only so good and I don’t have any Spanish, but I think this is a fruit drink? Look, I think it’s pear, like Dushes.”

      A flicker like fear but more like the feeling Yuri got when his grandfather made katsudon pirozhki hit him somewhere in the pit of his stomach. He did his best to push it aside. “Let’s get two, then. Wait, no, do they have anything black cherry? Like the Canadian cat soda?”

      Otabek actually laughed – _laughed_! – and shook his head no. It wasn’t until they were walking back to Mila’s hotel room with armfuls of bottles that Otabek muttered that the sodas in Canada were called ‘Cott’s’, not ‘кот’, and Yuri’s stomach dropped. Otabek laughed again, really just a bark, and Yuri’s embarrassment warred with the notion that this must be what it was to share a joke with a friend.

      The door of the room was propped open on the bar lock, so Otabek simply shouldered it open and gave a jerk of his chin to send Yuri into the room before him. It was this probably, Otabek at his back, that kept Yuri from running back into the hall. There were so many _people_ in Mila’s room!

      Sara was sitting on the bed, holding Mila’s hands in her lap and talking to her animatedly, and Emil was sitting on the foot of Mila’s bed, flipping through channels on the TV. Michele was standing over Sara, glaring at Mila – even though both girls were apparently ignoring him. At first, no one noticed Yuri and Otabek’s entrance. Yuri was fine with this, and started sidling his way over to the kitchenette to deposit his armful of drinks, but a shout from behind had him freezing.

      “Hello! Wow, looks like I’m the last one to arrive!” it was Katsudon’s old rinkmate, Phichit Chulanont. Yuri hadn’t realized Mila had invited him. It made sense though – with Yuuri and Viktor so obviously preoccupied, Phichit was as alone as Yuri was. Yuri started to ask if Christophe had been invited, too, but quickly refrained. He certainly had no desire to get involved in the lewd proclivities that always seemed to follow the Swiss.

      What sentiment Yuri felt toward Phichit dissipated when he barged past Yuri and Otabek to stand in the middle of the room and take a series of pictures, no doubt for upload on his Instagram with some caption like “banquet after party shenanigans!!!!” and an absurd amount of emojis (though that wasn’t exactly a bad idea… Yuri made a note to himself to do the same, though at a more opportune time).

      Mila scrambled to her feet, the wrinkled shirt and smudged makeup doing nothing to help her look anything but bedraggled. “Hey Phichit! Did you bring the…?”

      Phichit’s eyes lit up. “Oh! Yeah,” he paused to shrug his backpack off of one shoulder and Yuri heard the clink of bottles. “The kiosk in the lobby had a few options, but I just grabbed some Fleischmann’s. There was also some vodka so I grabbed a bottle but it looks like the kind that needs to be run through a Brita filter or something.”

      Yuri understood most of the words Phichit was saying but the exact meaning more or less escaped him. Emil whooped from his perch on the bed. Yuri didn’t know if it was because he’d found a showing of the 2004 remake of _Dawn of the Dead_ or because he liked cheap liquor. Sara wrinkled her nose and looked at Yuri. He thought perhaps she was going to make a comment about him being underage, but instead she nodded to the bottles he still held.

      “What do _you_ have?” she asked, words wrapped in her pretty Italian accent. Yuri made his way over to the mini fridge before answering, setting all the bottles but one down and throwing it her way. Thankfully, she caught it.

      “Mirinda? What’s that? Like a Fanta?”

      Yuri shrugged, but her big, weirdly purple eyes prompted a verbal response. “Yeah, I guess.”

      “What is the red one?”

      He glanced down at the single red bottle. They hadn’t been able to find a cherry flavor for Otabek, but there _had_ been strawberry and raspberry. He squinted at the label, wishing he could read English as well as he could speak it, and Otabek came up behind him.

      “It’s strawberry,” he said, plucking it from the top of the fridge and handing it to Sara, who passed the bottle of orange soda back to him.

      Michele was now sitting against the side of the bed by his twin, watching Otabek like he thought he might make a pass at his sister. Otabek met his eyes but didn’t say anything more, just stepped over him to claim the armchair by the window. Emil was standing next to Mila, watching as Phichit demonstrated a trick he’d apparently learned at college in America that involved opening bottles with one’s armpit.

      Mila took the bottle Phichit had just opened and took an experimental swig from it. She swallowed alright before pulling a face similar to one Yakov pulled when Georgi inevitably got over-emotional during a skate. “It’ll do,” she said, and brought the bottle back to her mouth.

      The party of sorts was on.

 

      Michele had relaxed a bit, having made a decent dent in the whiskey. He and Emil sat together against the bed, arguing (well, Michele was arguing – Emil was simply laughing). There weren’t glasses in the hotel room; there were, however, two Styrofoam cups by the little coffee maker that were being used by Phichit and Mila as shot glasses. Otabek had been delegated to the roll of DJ (something that made Yuri fight to keep the smirk off his face) and was still in the armchair, fiddling with the Bluetooth speaker Mila had dug from her luggage. He wasn’t drinking; he’d wordlessly waved away the proffered bottle of whiskey and no one had asked him again. Sara had only had a little bit of alcohol aside from the Mirinda she’d been nursing on, but it was enough – her accent seemed to have thickened, and she was using Mila as a shield from the zombie movie still playing muted on the television and contentedly eating a croissant.

      Yuri was tense with a combination of exhilaration and worry. It wasn’t that he’d never been to a party; the skaters at Yubileyny got together often enough – though with less pastries and more vodka. It was more that he felt hyperaware of being in a room with highly trained athletes – his rivals – and wanted to keep them as safe as possible. _It’s only so that I can kick their asses again next year_ , he told himself. The compassion in his gut disgusted him.

      Still, it shouldn’t have surprised him when Phichit held up the empty carton of orange juice he and Mila had been mixing into their vodka shots with a shout. There was positively a _gleam_ in his eyes, and Yuri felt a sneer making its way to his face before Phichit even spoke. “Let’s play spin the bottle!”

      “Yes!” Mila cheered grabbing his wrist and jumping to her feet. Their combined enthusiasm was enough to rouse Emil and Sara to their feet, as well. Only Michele stayed where he was, arms crossed.

      “That game is disgusting and wrong,” he snapped, probably intending to look menacing but losing the effect when he hiccupped. Sara rolled her eyes and shoved him with her foot.

      “Loosen up a little, Mickey,” she chirped, hanging on to Mila to keep balance. He looked like he was going to get into an argument with her, but Emil was already grabbing him and pulling him over to the sloppy, tight circle that was slowly forming as the others came over. Sara placed her empty strawberry Mirinda bottle in the approximate middle.

      Otabek looked over the group with a raised eyebrow. Yuri watched with bated breath as Otabek set the speaker aside and shifted in his seat. “Do you want all of us to play?”

      “ _Yes_!” Phichit crowed, grinning widely before his eyes fell on Yuri. “Or wait. Yuri, I don’t know…”

      “I’m nearly sixteen,” Yuri snapped, surprising himself. Kissing strangers was one of the least appealing things he could think of, and yet… he was strangely intrigued.

      A flicker of concern passed over Mila’s pretty features. In Russian, she asked, “Are you sure, Yura? You know you don’t really have to kiss anyone, you know Mickey won’t,”

      “It’s not a big deal if you don’t want to play, Yura,” Otabek said, startling Mila. It seemed that she’d forgotten that he was as fluent in Russian as he was Kazakh. Her eyes sparkled, though, as she added, “And you don’t even have to use tongue!”

      Yuri did his best to scowl at both of them and swallowed the trepidation in his throat. He wished he hadn’t vowed not to drink. Meanwhile, the rest of the skaters were watching the exchange with open curiosity. Yuri wondered what they thought they were talking about; surely they’d recognized his name. Hoping his blush wasn’t too clear, he dropped to sit on the floor between Phichit and the armchair Otabek hadn’t yet moved from. Phichit, true to character, had his phone out and was doing his best to get all of them in the shot. Otabek muttered something under his breath and set his phone on a playlist before slinking off the chair to sit cross-legged by Yuri to complete the circle. Naturally, the first song that came blaring through Mila’s speaker was _Welcome To The Madness_. If Yuri hadn’t been blushing before, he certainly was now.

      Phichit spun the Mirinda bottle first, landing on Michele. Michele, as Mila predicted, refused to kiss Phichit and instead grabbed the cheap vodka and took a generous swig. On Phichit’s left was Sara; her spin landed on Otabek. Yuri’s stomach flipped uncomfortably as his friend leaned across the circle, but to his surprise, the two only exchanged a smooch on the cheek, like you would meeting an old friend. The game continued in this chaste fashion, rife with laughter and the spilling of drinks on the hotel carpet.

      Mila was the first to kiss someone properly on the lips; the bottle landed pointing to Sara and she absolutely grinned. Sara smiled, too, and it was almost as if they’d planned it. Michele, of course, shouted angrily, but stayed seated. Sara rolled her eyes at him, wiping Mila’s lipgloss from the corner of her mouth with a satisfied smirk. From where he was seated, Yuri couldn’t see Mila’s face, but he was willing to bet that she was blushing all the way down to her collarbones.

      Otabek was after Mila; his spin landed on Phichit, who squealed and winked at Yuri (whatever he meant by that, Yuri had no clue). He expected them to kiss on the cheek, but after a moment’s hesitation and a sharp nod, Otabek gave Phichit a peck on the mouth. He didn’t seem perturbed when Emil wolf-whistled, either, or when Phichit playfully punched his shoulder and told him that, while he was flattered, he had his sights set on someone else. Otabek gave Phichit the weird semblance of a smile that he did sometimes and Phichit’s own grin seemed to dominate his face.

      Finally it was Yuri’s turn. To his dismay, the bottle pointed to Michele, who pointedly looked away. Vow of sobriety be damned. “Mila, give me the vodka,” Yuri growled through gritted teeth. Wordlessly, Mila passed him the alcohol and the game went on.

      Over the next several rounds, Phichit kissed Sara on the forehead, Emil kissed Yuri on the cheek (his stubble tickled, but not unpleasantly), Yuri missed Otabek’s cheek and got the corner of his mouth (Phichit whooped loudly but Yuri swore up and down it wasn’t his lack of skill but because Otabek was smiling and he hadn’t anticipated that), and Sara and Mila kissed twice more on the mouth, each more lingering than the last. Michele refused to kiss anyone at all, instead deciding to drink far more than he should have and scowl at the bottle spinning on the floor.

      Yuri found himself relaxing and even laughing along to the banter being shared. Otabek was still quiet next to him, still sober, the corners of his lips turned up in a close approximation of a smile. “Enjoying yourself?” he asked Yuri.

      “Are you?” Yuri shot back before realizing Otabek was speaking in Russian – only Mila would be able to understand, if she wanted to.

      Before he could reply, though, Michele’s spin landed on Emil and Sara leaned over to grab her brother’s arm. “Come on, Mickey!” she laughed, pushing him closer to Emil, who sat on his other side. Michele looked furious, but let Emil kiss him squarely on the mouth anyway, much to the amusement of Sara, Mila, and Phichit.

      “If we had any, I’d have popped open some champagne!” Phichit cried. Michele buried his face in his hands, but let Emil put an arm around him anyway.

      Mila’s turn was next, and to no one’s surprise, the bottle landed on Sara, who had the decency to look surprised. Mila started toward the middle of the circle eagerly, but Phichit was quick to hold a hand out to make her stop.

      “How many times, now?”

      “What?” she asked.

      “How many times has your spin landed on Sara? Or vice versa?”

      Mila frowned, thinking. “Vice versa…? I don’t…?”

      Phichit shrugged, already staggering to his feet and reaching for both Mila and Sara’s wrists. “It’s probably enough, anyway. Have you guys ever heard of seven minutes in heaven?”

      Michele started to bolt upright, but Emil snickered and hugged him closer. “Chill, man,” he said, patting his back. Michele groaned.

      Yuri watched the scene in front of him with a frown, not quite sure he understood what Phichit was saying. Turning back to Otabek, he asked, “Have you heard of this?”

      Otabek barked a laugh like he had when Yuri called Cott’s soda ‘cat soda’. He was looking up at Mila, though, when he said, “Yeah, it’s when you and someone else are picked to stay in a dark closet or something for seven minutes. It’s an American thing, mostly teenagers do it to make out or screw.”

      Yuri was shocked, mostly because this was the most he thought he’d heard Otabek speak at one time (or at least that’s how it felt). He didn’t much care what Mila did; she and Sara were friends, they’d probably just sit in the dark and talk. It didn’t affect him one way or another. Meanwhile, Phichit had explained the premise of the game to Sara, stating that it was a requirement if the bottle kept landing on the same people, and something about fate (the last said with a wink that, in the moment, was one of the funniest things Yuri thought he’d seen all week – except for the face Yakov had made when Viktor and Katsudon had officially announced their engagement earlier at the banquet).

      Phichit was ushering the girls toward the closet across from the bathroom now, all three of them giggling. “Who’s gonna keep time?” Phichit called over his shoulder.

      Emil waved a hand. “I will, but only if you grab those cookies off the table on your way back over here.”

      There was a countdown and the sliding door of the closet was closed. Yuri wondered if they were supposed to sit around and listen or what. He couldn’t imagine the game continuing without Mila and Sara. Hauling himself to his feet unsteadily with a hand on Otabek’s shoulder, he staggered the meter to Mila’s bed and flopped down. _Dawn of the Dead_ had ended in a spectacularly bloody fashion, and Yuri was in the mood for more. That’s what the gnawing in his stomach was, right?

      “Where’s the remote?” he asked into a pillow. When no one answered, he asked louder. Someone sat down next to him and patted his head. It was Phichit.

      “You know you’re speaking in Russian, right?”

 

      After that the night passed quickly. Yuri couldn’t remember more than bits and pieces; he remembered Georgi calling him about fifteen times and he remembered Otabek offering to walk him back to his room. He remembered Georgi’s panicked flapping and forcing him to drink a glass of water. He remembered his phone lighting up and making all kinds of noises, and subsequently chucking it at a wall.

 

      The flight back to Russia was at some ungodly hour before noon, and Yuri awoke with a sour, dry mouth, a pounding headache, and a renewed vow never to drink again. He let Georgi pat concealer under the deep shadows under his eyes and followed wordlessly when Yakov came to collect them for the airport.

      It wasn’t until they were past security and waiting at their gate that Yuri noticed Georgi looking at him funny.

      “What do you want, Gosha?”

      Georgi looked startled by Yuri’s use of the diminutive, but didn’t correct him – he’d been telling Yuri to call him _Gosha_ for ages, anyway. He cleared his throat and said, “It’s nothing, I’m just surprised you’re not on your phone. You know, with the pictures?”

      The pictures? What the hell did – oh. Oh. Yuri began digging furiously through his backpack to locate his phone, which was still powered off from the night before (had he turned it off or had Georgi?). He bounced his leg anxiously as the phone finally came up to the lock screen and immediately began to vibrate with back-logged notifications. He estimated that about half were texts from Viktor – though where Viktor had found the time, he had no clue.

 **00:34 old man** : yurotchka what is the meaning of all these pictures phichit uploaded???

 **00:34 old man** : yuri answer me please are you drinking??? the italian skater is holding vodka you better not be following his example

 **00:34 old man** : that’s not even good vodka yuri don’t drink that

 **00:35 old man** : DID YOU KISS THE ALTIN BOY YURI ANSWER ME IT SAYS YOU PLAYED SPIN THE BOTTLE

_[four missed calls from old man]_

**00:52 old man** : where did mila go she’s missing from these pictures is she alright????

_[two missed calls from old man]_

**01:07 old man** : my yuuri says you probably fell asleep and i should stop texting you

 **01:07 old man** : you didn’t even say goodnight to your fathers i hope you have an apology ready in the morning

 **1:10 old man** : don’t forget to drink plenty of water!!! we love you son

      Yuri’s left eye was twitching. He didn’t know if it was from irritation at Viktor (seriously, why did that shiny-foreheaded prick think he was Yuri’s father now?) or if it was the hangover, but either way his mood was building on murderous. More frustrating, though, was Viktor’s comment about Mila. What did he _mean_ , asking if she was alright? Of _course_ she was alright; she’d been right next to him right up until she got in the closet with Sara.

      Right. Yuri looked around over his shoulder, but didn’t see Mila. Georgi was watching Yuri, but looked away as soon as their eyes met, probably in effort to avoid an argument. He pulled headphones on and busied himself with his phone, leaving Yuri to glare at his own phone. The airport wifi was painfully slow, and the steady flow of notifications still flooding in made the Instagram app freeze twice before it finally opened. With shaking fingers, Yuri typed in Phichit’s handle instead of going first to his notifications, which were growing by the minute.

      The most recent photo was from only hours earlier. It appeared to be from the floor of a hotel room, angled up at the bed. The quality was grainy – probably from the dim morning light combined with an attempt to brighten the exposure – but Yuri could identify the red mop peeking out over the duvet as Mila’s head. Phichit had stayed the night in Mila’s hotel room? That didn’t make sense, why would he do something like that? Yuri scrolled down to the caption and read: _@mila-babicheva and @sala-crispino are too cute, even if they snore louder than @katsukiyuri and made me sleep in the armchair #afterparty #gpfbanquet_

      So Sara had stayed the night, too? How had she managed that, was Michele under the bed or something? With a sigh, Yuri scrolled down to the next posts. Yes, there were the ones of them playing spin the bottle that Viktor had been so alarmed about. They were actually quite neat pictures; Phichit had a knack for getting angles and lighting right in a pinch. Yuri saved one of the pictures in which he was laughing at something one of the other skaters had said, hand wrapped loosely around the bottle of pear soda that had tasted nothing like Dushes but was something he’d want again nonetheless. The Yuri’s Angels were predictably going nuts in the comments, tagging each other in lewd hypotheses of what had happened between the skaters. Some, though, were funny – Yuri liked a comment or two making fun of Michele’s expressions in most of the photos, comparing his frown to the old Grumpy Cat meme.

      Among the most popular of Phichit’s uploads from the night before was one he had taken of Mila and Sara watching Dawn of the Dead with Sara’s arms and legs wrapped around Mila, who was laughing and blurred. Smirking at the memory of how torn Sara had been between following the movie’s action and hiding from the gore, Yuri commented: _next time you have to watch the original. don’t settle for @emil+nekola ‘s shitty taste_.

      Satisfied, Yuri turned the screen off and settled back in his chair. Really, why was everyone in such a fuss? There weren’t any that should incite media attention, and it was unlikely that Yakov would care that two of his skaters had spent a good portion of the night drinking with their rivals when his star skater was preoccupied doing _much_ more than that with a rival. Lilia didn’t understand social media enough to reprimand him, either.

      The first reply to Yuri’s comment on Phichit’s picture of Mila and Sara should’ve been enough to recall Viktor’s concern to mind. As it was, though, Yuri was too focused on breathing through his mouth and not vomiting in the middle of the airport because a woman had walked by with a breakfast sandwich smelling horribly of onions and grease.

      Later, he’d see the comment and frown, then dismiss it and the subsequent reply thread from Sara from his notifications. What Mila or any of her friends did was of no concern to him.

_@mila-babicheva: @yuri_plisetsky hey good idea! @sala-crispino what do you think?_

_@sala-crispino: @yuri_plistetsky @mila-babicheva sounds good_ _☺ it’s a date <3 _

 

❣

 

      The offseason didn’t mean much to Yuri. He went home to Moscow usually, to his dedushka’s house. This year, the only reason there was a big shift into the offseason was because Yuri first had to pack up his things at Lilia’s home. It seemed that it was much easier to leave things in strange places in a house rather than one of the dorms at Yubileyny – every time Yuri thought he was packed for good, he’d find a leopard-spotted article of clothing in the laundry room or a school book tucked into the couch in the sitting room. Lilia made a quip about Yuri being like a cat marking his territory and promptly excused herself, complaining about having a tickle in her throat. When she gave him a hug and kiss goodbye, Yuri had the good grace to pretend he didn’t notice the tear tracks through her otherwise immaculate makeup (and Lilia didn’t say anything about the way Yuri’s shoulders shook as he held in his own tears). Who knew he’d become so attached to the old lady?

      Finally, though, Yuri had his things packed into the boot of Mila’s car. He didn’t quite know how he’d been suckered into letting Mila drive him the nine long hours from St. Petersburg to Moscow. She’d happened to overhear him talking to Yakov about how exactly to get all of his things on the train to Moscow and Mila had graciously offered to drive him, saying she could use the trip to visit her cousins on the way back. Yakov had left it to Yuri to decide. And he hadn’t wanted to bother dedushka – all that driving couldn’t be good for his back – and at least Mila was a better driver than Viktor. Potya, thankfully, was a good traveler. He had a soft carrier that could be carried in Yuri’s arms; this was comforting for both of them.

      Mila didn’t bother Yuri as they started the drive. Perhaps this way because it was a relatively early morning – but Yuri knew that really wasn’t it. They were both used to waking up well before sunrise to head to the gym or the rink and begin their training. Yuri didn’t want to think about the prospect of Mila being silent because she knew he was upset – he didn’t need her pity. Even so, he didn’t say anything to her until after they’d gone through a drive-through at a coffee shop before getting on the road to Moscow.

      “Thanks, бабa,” he muttered into the coffee he held close to his chest. Mila only nodded in acknowledgement.

      The heater in the car was going, but it was an old car and the winter was already rough. The further away from the water and St. Petersburg they got, the colder it would be. Yuri was thankful for the Coach jacket stuffed hastily into the bag at his feet. He’d need it.

 

      They’d been driving for about an hour when the terrestrial radio signal started to crap out and Mila fished out an AUX cord from the console between the front seats.

      “If you play any of that hardcore screaming bullshit I swear to god I’ll tell Viktor you and Otabek made out at the party after the banquet,”

      Yuri froze for a moment, finger hovering over a track by an American band called _Every Time I Die._ He didn’t think Mila was exactly serious, but he couldn’t be certain. It’s not that Yuri had blacked out at the party, but it had been a week ago and he didn’t quite remember all of it, and was subsequently half afraid that Mila’s threat had grounds in truth. His pause apparently surprised Mila; she glanced over at his phone and said, “What is that? That looks like a metal band, Yura… what, are you _not_ going to play it?” her eyes went back to the road in front of them before bouncing back and searching Yuri’s face for a heartbeat.

      “Come on now, Yura, I’m not going to say anything to Viktor – I’m in no position to say anything at all.” Her nervous giggle was enough to bring Yuri out of his short reverie. He selected an Every Time I Die song and shot a frown Mila’s way.

      “What are you saying, бабa?”

      Mila turned down the volume by three levels before replying, “Really, nothing. You _didn’t_ make out with Otabek.”

      Yuri turned the volume back up two levels. “I know that!” he snapped.

      “So what are you confused about?” Mila asked, turning the volume down only one level. Yuri scowled at the volume button but didn’t change it again.

      “I’m talking about that comment – what do you mean that you’re in no position to say anything about the party?” a memory hit Yuri like an icy raindrop, chilling his skin a little and waking him up. “Wait! _You_! You and the Crispino girl!”

      Mila was blushing and staring pointedly at the car in front of them, her knuckles white from her grip on the steering wheel. “What about her?”

      Yuri was pulling up Instagram on his phone now; Phichit posted often enough that he had a recent post right on Yuri’s home page. From there, Yuri went to Phichit’s profile and scrolled a little through the ridiculous number of posts Phichit had made in the last week. It wasn’t too long before he was able to land on the picture Phichit had taken of Mila and Sara in Mila’s hotel bed. “Aha!”

      “What?” Mila asked again, trying to crane her neck over to see Yuri’s phone. The movement caused the car to swerve and Yuri cursed.

      “ _Ah_! Drive the fucking car, Mila!”

      “What are you looking at?” her voice was sharp. She really _was_ nervous. Yuri sighed, pulling Potya’s carrier into his lap so he could check that the cat was alright (he was).

      “Just that post Phichit made on Instagram, the picture of you and Sara sleeping.”

      Mila’s blush was back. “Oh. Yeah.” She sounded uncertain. They were silent through the end of the song and half of another. Yuri had a mouthful of black coffee when Mila spoke again. Her tone was decidedly measured. “It’s not like Otabek said, you know. We didn’t have sex in the closet.”

      Yuri thought he was going to choke to death on the coffee. There was a lot of spluttering and coughing before he was able to hoarsely demand, “What the fresh hell are you talking about?”

      “The game!” Mila’s voice was shrill now. “The one with the spinning bottle!”

      “Seven minutes in Heaven?”

      “Yes!” Mila said, sounding relieved. “Don’t you remember, Sara and I went into the closet –“

      “I _really_ don’t want details, бабa,”

      Mila punched the audio off and Yuri started to complain, but Mila waved a hand and started talking over him. “No, listen, Yuri! I need your help.”

      “What? Why the hell do you need _my_ help?”

      “Shut up and listen, Yura!”

      Yuri turned the audio back on, albeit quieter. He hoped Mila accepted the compromise, because it was going to be a long fucking drive if she tried to boss him around the whole time. Thankfully, she seemed to accept this. At least, she launched into her story, so Yuri figured she didn’t mind the Metallica he’d put on to accompany her.

      Mila took a deep breath and then another. Yuri inspected his cuticles as he waited for her to get her shit together. Finally she spoke. “So anyway, we were all pretty drunk that night –“

      “Not Otabek,” Yuri couldn’t help interrupting. Otabek didn’t drink – he thought that was an important thing to point out. He didn’t know Otabek’s reasoning, but obviously it had meant something to him, and Yuri thus thought it was important to stand up for his honor. That’s what friends did.

      “Yura what did I say about interrupting me?”

      Yuri shrugged. “He doesn’t though. You said we were _all_ pretty drunk but really Otabek _wasn’t_.”

      “Jesus Christ, Yura,” Mila growled, turning the Metallica off as if she’d just noticed it. “As I was _saying_ , there was a lot of alcohol around. So it probably doesn’t mean anything.”

      Yuri thought about mentioning that there had been a lot of alcohol involved when Katsudon met Viktor and _that_ apparently had still meant a _lot_ , but he held his tongue. Really, he didn’t care about Mila’s relationships. They didn’t impact him in any way. Well, the hockey player she’d dated the year before had been kind of a hunk, but that wasn’t the point. He turned the Metallica back on. Mila didn’t notice.

      “So anyway,” she was saying, reaching for her coffee with a slightly shaking hand, “we made out, you know? That’s how the game is played. And my _god_ , Yuri, she’s such a good kisser! And her hair is so soft and she actually uses chapstick and I’ve never _kissed_ such soft lips (except maybe Phichit but he doesn’t count because that was just part of the game) and she smells so nice and – Yura why the hell are you rolling the window down?”

      “So if I puke, I don’t puke on Potya,” Yuri snapped.

      “What? Are you ill?” there was a genuine note of concern in her voice and Yuri growled.

      “I will be if you don’t stop saying disgusting things!”

      Mila rolled the window back up with the button on the driver’s side door. “You’re so funny, Yura. One day you’ll understand.”

      Yuri shot her a sneer. “Unlikely. I don’t think I’ll ever be going on about whether or not someone wears chapstick or not, бабa. Anyway, what’s the big deal?”

      Mila was quiet. Yuri decided she was either done talking or that she was probably appreciating the riffs in _Damage, Inc_. When she did speak, though, he caught himself reaching out to turn the volume down so he could hear her better. Thankfully, he didn’t. Not that Mila would’ve noticed – she had a faraway look in her eyes that gave him some concern, mostly because she was driving.

      “I _really_ liked kissing her, Yuri.”

      “So?”

      “ _So_? So, so many things!” Mila all but shouted. From inside his carrier, Potya hissed. Yuri opened the carrier and scooped the ragdoll cat out.

      “You’re scaring Potya,” he warned Mila. That, thankfully, got her to lower her voice.

      Mila took another swig of her coffee and was silent for a moment. Potya was purring against Yuri’s chest. Perhaps the combination of the Metallica playing and the cat’s funny, wheezy purr helped to calm her. It always helped him, at least.

      “It’s dumb.”

      That’s all she said. She didn’t shout for Yuri to be quiet and she didn’t start talking about Sara’s lips again. ‘That’s dumb’ was it. Yuri didn’t know what to say. He let the silence stretch on, on through [a cover Against Me! did of some American country song](https://www.google.com/url?sa=t&rct=j&q=&esrc=s&source=web&cd=1&cad=rja&uact=8&ved=0ahUKEwjq6-fpw7_YAhWJyyYKHbImAS4QyCkILDAA&url=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3DKUtdoyPG0OY&usg=AOvVaw10Hk4ahVdOswXMFPROv6pr). The slower tempo was comforting, and Yuri relaxed back against the seat of the car. There was a niggling feeling at the back of his mind, and it wouldn’t let him close his eyes and sleep. He looked over at Mila. Her knuckles were still white on the steering wheel. _Goddamnit._

      “What’s dumb, Mila?” he asked, soft enough that she could pretend to not have heard him. And for a moment, that’s what he thought she was doing.

      She shrugged and sniffled. He hoped to god that she wasn’t crying, because he didn’t know how to deal with tears. “I don’t know, Yura. Don’t you think it’s dumb? That it was just a stupid game and now I can’t stop thinking about her?”

      It was Yuri’s turn to fall silent and mull over words. He finger-combed Potya’s coat and the cat responded by kneading his chest. “No, not really. You’ve been friends with her for a while, right?”

      Mila nodded. “We’ve been skating together for years. We really only started talking when I moved up from skating junior’s.”

      Yuri did some quick counting in his head. “So that’s like three years, right?”

      “Yes.”

      “Did you think about her often? Before the kissing, I mean.”

      Mila seemed to roll the question over in her mind. “Well… yes. I mean we kept in touch, we’d talk online and stuff. But she’s my rival. I couldn’t exactly be her friend.”

      “But she _is_ your friend.”

      Mila didn’t argue with that. Yuri bit his lip against adding that his friendship with Otabek didn’t mean that he wasn’t going to continue to work to kick his ass in competition – or that when Viktor returned to skating the next season, Yuuri Katsuki wasn’t going to let him win just because they were engaged.

      Thinking the conversation was over, Yuri typed out a text to Otabek asking for song suggestions for the trip to Moscow. Otabek replied a few minutes later with a picture of a handwritten playlist that inexplicably made a lump form in Yuri’s throat. Why did some asshole saying that Guns ‘N Roses reminded him of Yuri make Yuri feel like an elephant was on his chest? Having friends was weird.

      Potya had slunk off of Yuri’s lap and back into his leopard print carrier on the floorboard. Yuri was trying to get a good angle of his cat to take a picture of for Otabek as a thank-you when Mila interrupted him.

      “Yura?”

      “What, бабa?”

      The timid voice was back. It was so _wrong_ coming from Mila’s mouth. “Does this make me gay?”

      Yuri sighed. He was only fifteen, why the hell did she think he could answer a question like that for her? “I don’t know, Mila. Do you still think Otabek looked hot when he helped out with my exhibition skate?”

      Mila answered without hesitation. “ _God_ , yes.”

      Yuri rolled his eyes. “So you’re not gay.”

      “But Sara! Yuri, I think I love her. She’s literally the hottest girl I’ve ever laid eyes on, and kissing her is –“

      “ _Fuck_ , Mila, not again! You already said that! And does it matter? Sexuality is fluid or whatever, right? You don’t need to tell everyone who you want to fuck. You don’t have to be like Viktor.”

      Mila snickered. “You’re right. Oh hell, did you see Yakov’s face when Viktor started talking about Yuuri’s ass at the banquet?”

      “Did you see Yuuri’s?” Yuri countered, doing his best not to laugh. “He turned red and grabbed a flute of champagne from the closest waiter.”

      “Oh, that poor man. They really love each other, don’t they?” Mila sounded a little wistful.

      “Whatever. Hey бабa, help me think of something witty to say to Otabek to thank him for the playlist he just sent me.”

      “Otabek sent you a _playlist_?” Mila squealed.

      “He’s my _friend_. Ugh! Shut up, бабa, forget I said anything,”

      Mila laughed, woes over her crush on Sara forgotten. “Fat chance of that, Yura.”

 

❣

 

      Halfway through February, Mila called Yuri in a panic. The thing was, Yuri wasn’t even in Russia. Viktor had flown him to Seoul, where the Four Continents Competition was being held (Yuri had made the mistake of making a post on his Instagram wishing Otabek luck at the competition and expressing disappointment at not being able to cheer him on in person. Viktor had jumped at the chance to add to Katsudon’s cheering section).

      “Oi, Mila, what the _fuck_ is your problem?”

      “Yura, you’ve got to help me.”

      “Fuck you, бабa, it’s –“ he paused to pull the phone away from his face and squint at the numbers on the too-bright screen, “it’s three in the fucking morning, what the _hell_?”

      “I’m sorry, but you’re awake now, so you have to listen to me,” Mila really did sound funny – scared, desperate. If Yuri hadn’t been so irritated, he might’ve been concerned. It was that sliver of that not-concern that led to the next words out of his mouth.

      “You have one minute or until Otabek throws a pillow at me to explain what the fuck’s so important that you’re waking me up in the middle of the goddamn night.”

      Mila sighed, obviously relieved. Then she seemed to replay Yuri’s words in her head. “What? You’re with Otabek?”

      “It’s like fifty seconds now,” Yuri grit out through clenched teeth.

      “Oh!” she yelped. “Alright, well – well Sara and I were Skyping because, I don’t know, we do that a lot lately, and I guess I wasn’t paying attention because she’d said something about going to dinner with Michele and she asked if it was alright if she changed while we were talking and honestly I didn’t think anything of it because I figured she’d just be away from the screen for a moment but fuck, Yura, she just started pulled her shirt off and –“

      Yuri hung the phone up and rolled back over to go to sleep. It was three in the bloody morning and there was no way he’d talk about Mila’s horrible puppy crush on Sara when Otabek was asleep in the other bed, just meters away. If he had to have this conversation with her, Yuri needed the freedom to yell obscenities at her without fear of waking his best friend (who happened to be resting up to prepare for kicking Katsudon’s ass in the rink).

      Perhaps Mila guessed this, because she didn’t try to call him back. Instead she began texting him. He let the notifications come in – she had always been bad about sending multiple texts in a row but to be fair, he did the same thing – and resolved not to look at them until the morning. She could have whatever little crisis over her sexuality on her own. Yuri had already grown two centimeters since the Grand Prix Final; he needed his sleep.

 

 **03:16 Баба-яга** : ANYWAY she took off her shirt right in front of me and I didn’t know this but uh she has the most perfect boobs I’ve ever seen in my life Yuri they’re so perfect and they look so soft and she’s so gorgeous so so so so gorgeous

 **03:16 Баба-яга** : Yuri I wanted to die I actually said “oh mama” and she HEARD ME

 **03:17 Баба-яга** : and do you know the worst part???????

 **03:17 Баба-яга** : she just looked at me IN THE EYES and smiled and shit I think I actually died and went to heaven

 **03:17 Баба-яга** : that’s not all though!!!!!!

 **03:17 Баба-яга** : she flirted with me ??? she was like ‘you like what you see, Mila?’

 **03:18 Баба-яга** : like what the fuck

 **03:18 Баба-яга** : I think she was trying to kill me actually. My heart is beating so fast still

 **03:18 Баба-яга** : but I’m a fucking IDIOT and I started to tell her yes but then!!! Michele knocked on the door and I never thought I’d say this but honestly god bless him like he saved my life

 **03:19 Баба-яга** : I guess you went back to sleep because you’re not yelling at me but yeah Sara just kinda winked at me and said she had to go what the fuck does that even mean

 **03:19 Баба-яга** : also when you wake up you better fucking tell me how you came to be in the same room as a sleeping Otabek

 

      Otabek really did throw a pillow at Yuri to wake him up the next morning. Yuri groaned and rolled over, but of course his bed was closest to the window overlooking Seoul and he was greeted with the light of the morning sun.

      “Ugh, Beka, can’t you let me sleep in?” Yuri held the pillow Otabek had thrown at him over his head. It smelled faintly like Otabek’s shampoo, but Yuri didn’t mind. It kept the light out.

      “I _did_ let you sleep in, Yura,” Otabek said from across the room. Yuri was certain that if he looked over he’d see his friend standing with a hand on his hip, frowning impatiently. Instead of looking, though, Yuri hugged the pillow closer.

      “It’s too goddamned early,”

      “You know what was too early?” Otabek’s voice was closer now – he’d walked over to stand by Yuri’s bed. “A phone call at three in the morning. _That_ was too early.”

      Oh fuck. Yuri slowly sat up, squinting tired eyes at Otabek, who had his arms crossed over his chest. “It’s fucking Mila’s fault. She thinks I can give her advice on her stupid love life. I’m sorry, I really didn’t mean to wake you up.”

      Otabek patted Yuri on the shoulder when he finally got out of bed. “It’s alright. Your phone went off about twenty times after the call, though.”

      Shit, he was right. Yuri fished around under his pillow for his phone. Sure enough, among the usual plethora of SNS notifications were a slew of texts from Mila. He groaned and threw the phone down on his bed.

      “She’s got to stop coming to me for advice on relationships,” he huffed, turning his eyes on Otabek, “I mean, I’m not sixteen until next month, what the hell do I know about this shit?” Yuri slumped past Otabek to get to his suitcase and rummage out a sweater and jeans to pull on.

      Otabek shrugged – Yuri couldn’t see him, but he heard the movement of his Team Kazakhstan jacket and made an assumption. “Are you going to text her back?” he asked.

      This early in the morning, Yuri could hear the Kazakh accent distorting the Russian Otabek spoke more than usual – he hadn’t quite noticed it before, and it made him smile to recognize something new about his friend. The smile still in place, he looked over his shoulder to meet Otabek’s eyes again. “Yeah, I guess so.”

 

      Yuri didn’t have a chance to text Mila back until he was packed into the back of a car to the stadium an hour later with Viktor and Katsudon. Thankfully, Katsudon was seated between the Russians – if it had been Viktor seated next to Yuri, he wouldn’t have attempted to text anyone. Viktor was far too nosy. Katsudon was too busy getting himself worked up over his upcoming skate to bother with snooping, even if he _had_ been the prying type (or able to read Russian). It was four in the morning in St. Petersburg, but Yuri knew Mila would be awake.

 **07:13 me** : Viktor flew me to Seoul to support Otabek and Katsuki at the 4CC. I stayed in Otabek’s hotel room because Viktor only got the one room for him and Katsuki and there’s no way in hell I’m staying in the same room as those disgusting old men

 **07:15** **Баба-яга:** shit good call

 **07:15 Баба-яга** : sorry I kinda freaked out on you

 **07:16 me** : yeah what the fuck was that about

 **07:16 me** : PLEASE don’t start talking about her boobs again

 **07:17 Баба-яга** : they’re really nice though!!!

 **07:17 me** : don’t fucking test me

 **07:19 Баба-яга** : sorry!!!!

 **07:19 Баба-яга** : yura I just don’t know what to do everything in my heart is so conflicted ☹

 **07:20 me** : I know

 **07:21 Баба-яга** : it was one thing when I thought it was a fluke and could pretend that I just like boys and only liked her because of the kissing

 **07:22 Баба-яга** : but then she flirted back

 **07:23 me** : why are you sad isn’t that what you wanted

 **07:24 Баба-яга** : ☹☹☹☹

 **07:24 Баба-яга** : I thought it was but now I don’t know. I don’t know who I am anymore

 **07:25 me** : don’t be silly. You’re Mila. Just because you like a girl doesn’t mean that you’re a different person ??? it just means youre bisexual or something which isn’t even a big deal. Youre still the same crazy Баба-яга.

 **07:26 me** : Mila? Don’t be sad ok

 **07:28 Баба-яга** : thank you yura. You’re a very sweet boy

 **07:29 me** : never say that to me ever again I’m the fucking ice tiger of russia not a sweet boy

 **07:30 me:** but you’re welcome

 **07:31 Баба-яга** : <3 i‘m gonna go to sleep now and call her when I wake up. goodnight

 

      Yuri sighed and closed his eyes. He was tempted to text her to be careful, but decided not to. Talking about emotions was so exhausting – even when they weren’t your own emotions, apparently. Or maybe he was tired because Mila had interrupted his sleep to talk about her rival’s boobs. Either way, the first thing he did upon their arrival at the stadium was all but fall out of the car and start searching for a coffee kiosk.

      “Yura!” there was a shout from behind him. Yuri turned to see Otabek holding up a coffee. Ignoring the look Viktor was most definitely giving him, Yuri walked over to his friend, taking the coffee gratefully.

      “Thanks, Beka – how much do I owe you?”

      Otabek’s brows creased. “You don’t owe me anything. I just figured you might need the caffeine because you were a zombie this morning.”

      Shit. How could people be so mindful of others? “Did you get anything for yourself at least?”

      Otabek shrugged. “Some green tea. I try not to have much caffeine before I skate.”

      Yuri wondered if it made him jittery – Katsudon refrained from caffeine before competitions for that same reason. He couldn’t bring himself to ask, though. Otabek didn’t seem to mind. He squeezed Yuri’s shoulder and stepped back.

      “I have to go warm up. I’ll see you later.”

      “See you.”

      Yuri watched Otabek stride back through the growing throng of people, back towards the locker rooms where his coach was no doubt waiting for him. He didn’t have long to watch, though; Viktor and Katsudon were at his side.

      “Everything okay?” Katsudon asked, a soft smile on his pale face. Viktor had disappeared to find coffee, himself, and apparently Katsudon had been waiting anxiously for Otabek to leave so he could hover by Yuri without making the other skater uncomfortable. Why he was so concerned for Yuri when he had his own things to be anxious over, Yuri had no idea.

      “Are _you_?” Yuri shot back. To his surprise, Katsudon laughed.

      “Yes, Yurio, I’m great. I’m so happy that you were able to come here to watch me skate – and your friend Otabek, too.”

      The softness in Katsudon’s eyes was so genuine that Yuri didn’t know what to say. He went with a shrug and a grunt. Katsudon was patting his back, though, and apologizing for not being able to bring Yuri back to the closed-off athlete’s area.

      “S’okay,” Yuri muttered, taking a sip of the coffee Otabek had brought him (which was black without sugar; if Otabek had guessed that Yuri was still more or less on the diet approved by Lilia, he was correct), “probably would end up hitting Viktor with someone’s skate if I had to listen to him prattle on about your ass all day.”

      Though his cheeks colored, Katsudon laughed. “Yes, that wouldn’t be very good. I’ll see if I can’t send Viktor out to the stands anyway, though, just for a moment so you won’t be alone all day. And so I can have a chance to talk to Phichit.”

      Yuri nodded that that was fine and headed for the stands before he could do something stupid, like tell Katsudon thank you or wish him luck.

 

      Mila chickened out. She didn’t call Sara when she woke up like she’d told Yuri she would. He didn’t ask, of course, but assumed as much from the way she started bombarding his phone a few hours later, asking after the familiar faces at the 4CC. It’s true that most of the foreign skaters they knew were here: Katsudon and Otabek, of course; Phichit from Thailand; Seung-gil Lee from South Korea; Guang-hong Ji from China; Leo de la Iglesia from America; JJ Leroy from Canada.

      Ugh, JJ. Somehow JJ’s fiancée Isabella had ended up sitting near Yuri in the stands. The first few times JJ had sent a huge grin and his trademark hand gesture in his general direction, Yuri had bristled almost to the point of screaming obscenities right across the rink. Once Yuri noticed Isabella out of the corner of his eye, though, he was able to relax – the arrogant Canadian wasn’t mocking him, just making eyes at his fiancée. Yuri could stomach that, even if it was annoying.

      Yuri couldn’t see many of the skaters not actually on the ice from the stand, which he resented. He was almost glad when, as Katsudon promised, Viktor came clambering up through the stands to plop down, breathless, at Yuri’s side.

      “Are you really that out of shape, old man? How can you hope to win anything next season if you can barely climb stairs?”

      Viktor raised his eyebrows. “Wow, kitten, are you so afraid for your title that you’re making things up to comfort yourself?”

      Yuri rolled his eyes. “You’re the one all red and out of breath.”

      “That’s not from climbing the stands, Yura,” Viktor said with a smirk.

      “Ugh! You’re so fucking _disgusting_ with that piggy,”

      Viktor shrugged. He didn’t seem upset by Yuri’s vitriol – perhaps he was just accustomed to it by now. “One day you’ll understand. Anyway, my Yuuri told me that you threatened murder if I talked about him to you too much, so shall I tell you instead about the other skaters?”

      Yuri shrugged. The truth was that he was painfully curious. He hadn’t seen Phichit, for one, since the impromptu party after the GPF banquet.

      “Let’s see… the young skater from China seemed better in warmups than he did at the Cup of China. Same with the American – he landed some jumps during the warmup that he flubbed during his short program, did you see that?”

      Yuri nodded, just so Viktor would keep talking. He hadn’t paid too much attention to either Guang-hong or Leo, frankly because he didn’t consider them good enough skaters to be any real competition to him.

      “Phichit is a strong contender for the podium this year, I think. He’d probably be even better if he wasn’t always going around with his phone out, talking to it.”

      “Like talking on his phone?” he responded in Russian, though Viktor was speaking English (probably out of habit from being with Katsudon, which Yuri found irritating and… sweet).

      “No,” Viktor’s brows creased and he pulled his own phone from his pocket and held it out from himself like he was taking a selfie, “he holds it like this and talks to it.”

      “He’s vlogging,” Yuri said immediately, nodding to himself. He knew Phichit sometimes posted videos of his days at the rink in Bangkok; it made sense if he was vlogging the 4CC.

      “What is this ‘vlogging’?”

      Yuri rolled his eyes. “How did you land a fucking boyfriend when you’re so _old_?”

      “ _Fiancé_.” Viktor pushed out his lips in a pout but didn’t start whining, opting instead to continue on his run-down on the other skaters. Yuri was somewhat impressed by his restraint. “Anyway, I almost hope the loud Canadian wins this, just so he shuts the hell up about how he’s going to marry his girlfriend once he has gold.”

      Yuri actually snorted when Isabella looked over her shoulder and made a face at them at Viktor’s mention of JJ. He stuck his tongue out at her and she rolled her eyes and looked away. He nodded toward the ice, where Seung-gil Lee was preparing to skate. Phichit was hanging on the boards, looking besotted. Katsudon was standing a little behind him, looking amused but still anxious over his own upcoming skate.

      Nudging Viktor with his elbow, Yuri said, “There’s your piggy,”

      “What? Seung-gil Lee is _not_ my – oh! Look, there’s Yuuri!” Viktor waved and smiled widely, and even from across the rink Yuri could see Katsudon’s cheeks flush, though he smiled and waved back. Is this what Mila wanted with Sara? Yuri’s nose wrinkled, trying to imagine what that would be like. He’d only known of the hockey players she’d dated at Yubileyny – what would it be like if he actually knew the person she dated? If he watched them compete against one another?

 

      After Seung-gil’s skate (which wasn’t bad, just not impressive enough to pass Otabek and JJ’s scores holding the first and second places, respectively, on the board) Viktor left the stands to return to Katsudon’s side. Yuri texted Mila to let her know he was free to talk and she called him immediately.

      “Hey, Yura, how’s the competition going? Has Yuuri skated yet? Has Otabek? How are y-“

      “You didn’t call Sara like you said you were going to.” Yuri snapped, going to take a swig of coffee and finding the cup empty. It did nothing to help his mood. Mila was quick to defend herself, and Yuri was quick to bat her excuses aside. “Shut up, бабa, listen. This pining bullshit can’t be healthy – I mean look at Georgi.”

      Mila _tsk-tsk_ ed. “You heard about that? Poor Georgi.”

      Yuri pulled the phone away from his face and glanced at it before saying, “What the fuck do you mean, what happened to Georgi?”

      “What? I thought you were talking about the thing with Anya,”

      Yuri gave a loud sigh of relief into the phone. “I just meant his state in general, but you had me afraid he was going out in public in that bloody witch makeup or something.”

      “Good god, it would be the death of Yakov.”

      “Yeah, you know what else will be the death of Yakov? If you start acting all weepy over Sara like Georgi gets with everyone.”

      Mila was silent on the other end, and Yuri was preparing to hang up on her when she said, “I’m working on it, Yura. It’s just gotta be right – I don’t wanna fuck this up.”

      Yuri hummed into the phone, not really knowing what to say. Thankfully, Katsudon took the ice and Yuri had a good excuse to end the call.

 

      At the end of the day, Katsudon had edged into second place and Otabek had maintained his lead. It was enough that Viktor insisted on taking them all to dinner. Yuri expected that it wouldn’t be a large affair, but just about everyone he knew showed up – even Seung-gil, who was notoriously reclusive. It seemed Phichit was taking the opportunity to be as physical with him as socially acceptable. Yuri could see why Viktor and Phichit got along so well.

      What surprised him the most about Seung-gil, though, is that he came over to Yuri after dinner when they’d all walked back from the restaurant to the hotel and started talking to him. Yuri was caught off guard enough that he didn’t realize Seung-gil was actually speaking to him until he was staring at him, waiting for an answer to a question he’d apparently asked.

      “What?” Yuri asked, grateful that when he leaned back a little he was greeted with the solid body of Otabek, who was having a conversation with Guang-hong and Leo at his back, assuring him that he was awake.

      Seung-gil rolled his eyes. “Sara? Crispino? She won’t leave me alone, always wanting to talk about one of the women you skate with. I don’t know why she won’t stop bothering me; I refuse to have anything to do with these women. Can you please tell her to stop?”

      Surprise made Yuri snap. “What the hell makes you think I know what that crazy Italian wants? Why is it – oh,” it could’ve been the jab in the side Otabek gave him, but what he was hearing finally clicked into something comprehensible to him – Sara was hounding other skaters about Mila, just as Mila was hounding Yuri. Interesting…

      Seung-gil was openly glaring at Yuri now; swallowing his pride, Yuri mumbled an apology and said he’d see what he could do about Sara before grabbing Otabek and tugging him toward the elevator back to their room. The skaters had been milling around a bit in the lobby, catching up, but there was no more time for that now. Thankfully, Otabek didn’t protest and followed Yuri toward the elevator, waving goodnight over his shoulder. Out of the corner of his eye, Yuri could see Katsudon with an arm around Viktor’s stomach, apparently holding him back. Phichit, naturally, appeared to be documenting it.

      “What’s up?” Otabek asked when the elevator door slid shut.

      Yuri punched the button for their floor and leaned back against the wall before sighing and saying, “It’s Mila. What Seung-gil just said – that Sara has been pestering him like Mila has been pestering me, about them apparently having crushes on each other? We’ve gotta deal with it.”

      He watched Otabek’s carefully blank face for what felt like forever before he nodded. “Alright, but in exchange I get the first shower.”

      “Done.”

 

      If Yuri had been Otabek, there would be a good chance that there wouldn’t be enough hot water for a second shower. Otabek was a good friend, though, and before long they were both showered with their teeth brushed, seated on the floor in the space between the hotel beds, ready to figure out a game plan. Ever meticulous, Otabek had set an alarm on his wristwatch so he wouldn’t be suckered into staying up too late – as he pointed out to Yuri, who had started to argue about having a bedtime, if he was expected to perform well in the skate the next day, he’d have to be allowed to sleep. Yuri had grudgingly agreed.

      When Otabek pulled his phone from his pocket and snapped a picture, Yuri forgot he had his hair tied up in a bun with a headband holding flyaways away from the mud mask he had drying on his face, and instead instinctively stuck his tongue out. He was raising a peace sign for another picture when he remembered the mud mask. “Hey!”

      Otabek shrugged, the corners of his lips twitching with a smile. “It’s blackmail in case you try to make me stay up late.”

      Damn him, it was a smart move. “Fine. You’re still going to help me with this, though.”

      “Yes, but you haven’t even told me what this _is_.”

      “Fuck. Okay, do you remember the gathering we had in Mila’s hotel room after the GPF?”

      “Sure.”

      “And you remember how we all played Spin the Bottle?” Yuri leaned back against his bed and put his feet up on Otabek’s, stubbornly ignoring the ache this gave his tailbone for the stretch he was able to give his hamstrings. He couldn’t quite look at Otabek, who had turned slightly pink.

      He spoke softly, cautious. “I remember.”

      Yuri looked up at the ceiling. Otabek didn’t push Yuri to get on with the story, just silently watched his friend roll words around in his mouth. “Well Mila – now I’ve known her for years, and even if I fight it, she’s a good friend to me – changed somehow. You remember that she and Sara went into the closet to play Seven Minutes In Heaven? Mila gave me more detail than I asked for – I didn’t _ask_ for _anything_ , for fuck’s sake – but anyway, she realized that she enjoys kissing Sara.” He darted his eyes to Otabek, gauging his expression.

      Otabek remained stolid, aside from raising an eyebrow. “Alright.”

      If it had been anyone else, the seemingly disinterested responses and blank face would’ve been annoying; with Otabek, though, it was comforting. Yuri’s thoughts seemed to slow down, and he was able to process his own ideas more clearly. “I told her it’s whatever, but she’s very shaken. She’s only ever dated boys, and now she realizes that she likes girls, too. Can’t get Sara out of her mind, or something. They’re already friends, but now Mila is telling me about Sara’s lips or Sara’s boobs all the time.”

      Otabek chuckled. “I can believe that.”

      Yuri felt a twinge of curious unease, but pushed it aside. “I’ve been trying to get her to just tell Sara she likes her, but she’s nervous or something.”

      “That makes sense, though, Yura.”

      Yuri met Otabek’s dark, angled eyes for a heartbeat, narrowing his own eyes as he puzzled over what exactly Otabek was able to understand. It was relatively unimportant, though. Yuri leaned forward over his elevated legs, deepening the stretch instead of speaking.

      He didn’t meet Otabek’s eyes again, even when Otabek surprised him by saying, “So you want help in getting Mila and Sara to meet and tell each other about their feelings?”

      “Basically. It’s dumb, right?”

      Otabek stood and sat on his bed, putting his own feet on Yuri’s bed, so they sat at angles to each other. “No. Just don’t force them to do something they don’t want to do. Are you going to wash your face off?”

      “ _Shit_ , I forgot I had a mask on. Hang on,” Yuri scrambled up right and darted across the hotel room to the sink. He called over his shoulder, “Thanks for reminding me. But does this mean you’re done helping me with the whole Mila situation?”

      He couldn’t hear if Otabek said anything as he ducked down into the sink to scrub the mud mask from his face, but assumed that he hadn’t. When Yuri returned to sit on his bed facing Otabek, though, Otabek was watching him with raised eyebrows.

      “What?”

      Otabek rolled his eyes and flopped back on his bed, dramatically going through the motions of getting under the covers.

      “Wait! Beka, the alarm you set hasn’t gone off! Come on, tell me, really, I just hadn’t been able to hear you.” Yuri jumped from his bed to Otabek’s to sit beside his friend and jiggle his arm. Finally Otabek cracked a smile, dropping the irritated façade.

      “Okay, here’s what I was thinking…”

 

❣

                                                                                                                                                    

      “How’d you even know when Phichit’s birthday is?”

      Otabek rolled his eyes. “It’s polite to ask people about themselves, you know.”

      Yuri pretended to be shocked. “You, Otabek Altin, _talk to people_?”

      “Screw you.” The remark lacked venom, though, and the boys dissolved into snickers.

      It was a few days before Phichit’s actual birthday, which fell on a Monday. Apparently Katsudon had been planning a birthday party in St. Petersburg for his best friend anyway, something Otabek had somehow learned before Yuri. Viktor had graciously offered to fly all the guests in to St. Petersburg, but Katsudon put his foot down, only allowing his fiancé to buy Phichit’s tickets. Everyone else, he said, could fly themselves. And Phichit was so well-liked by those in their sport that in the next several hours, many of their friends and colleagues in the sport would be arriving at the Katsuki-Nikiforov residence for the party, having flown themselves in from other countries to celebrate.

      “And you didn’t tell Mila that Sara’s coming?” Otabek asked Yuri in an undertone.

      “I didn’t want her to chicken out.”

      “Fair enough.”

      It was Yuri’s turn to be concerned, though, and after a moment of silence filled only by the Netflix documentary playing on the TV opposite them, he asked, “Are you sure this is gonna work?”

      “Sara texted me last night when she and Michele boarded the plane from Naples to LED. So, yeah, they should be here. Stop worrying, Yura.”

      “I’m not worried! I’m just tired of Mila nagging me about fuckin’ Sara.”

      A smirk covered Otabek’s face. “Really, about _fucking Sara_?”

      “Goddamnit, Otabek, you’re such an ass.” Yuri shoved his friend’s arm and used the motion to help himself rise from Viktor’s ridiculously plush sofa. He stomped to the kitchen, exaggerating his irritation at his best friend, and Otabek laughed loudly from where he was still lounging on the sofa.

      They were the only people in the apartment – Katsudon and Phichit were walking Makkachin, probably looking for opportune selfie locations, and Viktor was at the market picking up last minute party supplies (having had a stern word from Katsudon about _not buying out the entire market_ ). The party wouldn’t start until that afternoon, once their foreign guests had had time to freshen up after their flights.

      “Do you want tea?” Yuri called over his shoulder, already putting the kettle on.

      “Is it the green tea Katsuki had a case sent over from Japan?”

      “Yeah, I forgot I told you about that.”

      “Then yes, please. But could you bring some jam out, too?”

      “You sound like a Russian,” Yuri laughed, turning around to see that Otabek had sat up enough for Yuri to see that he was sticking his tongue out.

 

      It wasn’t long after Katsudon, Phichit, and Viktor returned to the apartment and started decorating that their guests began texting, giving estimated arrival times. Katsudon looked anxious, but that was more or less to be expected, and with both Phichit and Viktor there to soothe his nerves, he seemed to be taking the varied arrival estimates in stride. By some miracle, Christophe had actually RSVP’d instead of crashing the party like he was wont to do – Yuri had the idea that it had something to do with a certain unflattering picture Viktor had of Chris being held over his head.

      “Leo and Guang-hong can’t make it, right?” Katuson asked for what was probably the fourth time. Makkachin whined and came to sit with Otabek and Yuri, probably tired of hearing the same conversation over and over. Yuri could sympathize with the dog, at least.

      Viktor was patient, patting his fiancé’s hand and saying, “That’s right darling, Leo’s still finishing the spring term of university.”

      “And Guang-hong is flying to America in June, so it was this or that! No big deal, Yuuri!” Phichit chirped. “Hey, which shoes do you think I should wear tonight?”

 

      When Mila arrived, Seung-gil had just turned up, which had rendered Phichit rather weepy. He didn’t even turn to wave at her, just continued leaning intently into Seung-gil, a hand on each of his shoulders – but Mila didn’t seem to mind. She nodded to Viktor and gave Katsudon a kiss on the cheek before all but throwing herself down onto the couch between Yuri and Otabek.

      “What’s with you?” Yuri asked, though it sounded more like a snap. Thankfully Mila didn’t take it as one.

      “I just feel so dumb, coming here without a date or anything.”

      “It’s a _birthday party_ , Баба, get over yourself.”

      “Yura, so rude!” she looked over at Otabek and said, “I thought turning 16 would make him more mature.”

      Otabek was looking at his phone, face impassive. “That was nearly two months ago, wasn’t it?”

      “Yeah, I haven’t seen a change, have you?”

      “Screw you both!” Yuri snapped, pulling himself to his feet and planting his hands on his hips.

      Viktor was walking past with a couple drinks in his hands, and he fixed Yuri with a stern glare. “You three shouldn’t speak Russian in front of all the guests, it’s rude.”

      “You’re an awful old man,” Yuri grumbled in English.

      Viktor did his best to blow Yuri a kiss with his hands full. “Thanks, son!”

      Yuri’s phone vibrating kept him from stalking after Viktor and kicking him behind the knee. Otabek had texted him – apparently the Crispinos were in the taxi, not more than ten minutes away from Viktor’s apartment.

      “Oi, Баба, come with me and do my eyeliner.”

      Mila rolled her eyes. “Yura, can’t you do your own eyeliner?”

      Yuri swallowed the desire to argue that of _course_ he could, he could do eyeliner better than everyone there except Phichit, but instead said, “You can do it better than I can. Come on.”

      Mila raised her eyebrows at Otabek but took the hand that Yuri offered to help her to her feet. Mila was tall, a little more than a centimeter taller than Otabek, and had only added to that height by wearing a clunky pair of old Gucci boots shamelessly poached from Viktor’s closet. With a sigh, she followed Yuri to the guest bedroom where he was staying for the weekend. Yuri’s makeup was scattered on the dresser (most of his things were, in fact, strewn haphazardly around the small room); Mila scooped up a handful of products and sat against the open door to the en suite bathroom where the light was sufficient.

      “You seem agitated, kid.”

      “Fuck you, I’m not a kid, we’ve been over this before,” Yuri snapped before he could think better of it, playing with a ratty leopard print headband in his hands.

      “So you _are_ agitated, then?” Mila asked, plucking the headband from Yuri’s hands and smoothing it onto his head to hold back his puffy blond hair.

      “Never mind me, Баба. Are you really upset about not being here with a date?”

      Mila sighed and started drawing on Yuri’s eyeliner in short, deft strokes. “Yeah. I’m so used to dating people, and I haven’t been out with anyone since that one hockey player.”

      “Which?”

      “Stop trying to raise your eyebrow, stay still. The one I had to teach a lesson about cheating.”

      “Oh, but he was kind of shitty anyway, you wouldn’t want him here, would you?” Yuri did his best to open one eye just enough to see Mila.

      Mila sighed again. “I guess not. Close your eyes so they eyeliner can dry, silly.”

      “Brush my hair?”

      “What, do you want space buns like mine?” Mila teased. The sound of the front door opening and delighted greetings, albeit muffled, reached them and Yuri’s eyes snapped open.

      Mila turned to Yuri, eyebrows raised. “Who’s arrived?”

      “Probably Christophe.” Yuri didn’t sound convincing, even in his own ears.

      “Don’t be stupid, it’s not even dark out. Anyway, it sounds like a… girl?”

      “I don’t know.”

      Mila’s eyes were narrowed suspiciously. “I’m gonna go see, then.”

      “Wait!” Yuri said, grabbing Mila’s arm.

      “What is it, Yura?”

      “Just –“ he stood and caught a few flyaways from Mila’s space buns and held them in place with one hand while scrabbling with the other for a bobby pin. Mila was patient, though concern showed through her eyes, and she let her younger friend smooth a finger along the part between her undercut and updo.

      “Are you alright?”

      “I’m fine, Баба! Anyway, _now_ you look good. You’re welcome.”

      Mila rolled her eyes. “Whatever, Yura. Come on, we’re missing the party!”

      Yuri didn’t know what to expect. Mila and Sara were both very tactile women; Sara, though, was more outgoing. It took Mila time to get comfortable with people, and then she had no problem throwing them around or over her shoulder. But how would Mila react faced with her friend, who – by all accounts – she hadn’t seen in person since they made out in a closet? Would she be upset that they hadn’t told her that Sara would be attending?

      The guest room where Yuri was staying was down a short hallway from the open-concept living room. The few seconds that it took to get to the rest of the party was plenty of time for Mila to hear Sara’s voice, eyes widening in comprehension.

      “Wait – is that Sara?”

      Yuri didn’t say anything, just pushed Mila along in front of him. Unable to restrain herself, Mila all but dashed into the living room, scanning the room furiously for a heartbeat before locating the source of the bell-peal laughter, the long dark hair she’d been dreaming about wrapping her hands in.

      “Sara?” Mila called, barely louder than the music pouring through the Bluetooth speakers.

      It was enough. Sara whirled away from Phichit and Seung-gil (the latter wearing the most ridiculously relieved expression at this) and gasped, “Mila! I didn’t know you were here!”

      Mila and Sara met in the middle of the living room and pulled each other close, speaking to each other softly enough that Yuri couldn’t make their words out. Figuring his work was done, he crossed over to the kitchen to hunt down something to drink. He was surprised, then, when he turned back around to find Mila hovering anxiously at the edge of the kitchen.

      “Mila, what the fuck?” he hissed. “Shouldn’t you be, I don’t know, making out in a closet or something?”

      Mila’s face turned damn near the color of her hair. “Keep your voice down! That’s not why she’s here, anyway, and I don’t think she likes me like that.”

      Yuri had to pinch the bridge of his nose for a moment to keep from exploding. “Are you _kidding_ me, Баба?” he switched to Russian, taking care to see that Viktor was out of earshot. “We all love Phichit, but Sara wouldn’t fly for god knows how long just to see _him_. She came to see _you_.”

      There was something like hope in Mila’s eyes, but she seemed to be fighting it. “You can’t be serious.”

      “I’m serious, damnit! Go fucking ask her, if you don’t believe me.”

      “I couldn’t possibly –“

      Yuri was already shoving Mila out of the kitchen. “Yes, you can. Seriously, go.”

      Sara, of course, had been watching the whole exchange from the living room, wide-eyed like a startled deer. She smiled when Mila started towards her again, holding an arm out to pull Mila into a side-hug. The front door opened then, and Yuri glanced over to see Christophe walk in with the boyfriend Yuri could never remember the name of. When he turned back to where Mila and Sara had been, they were gone.

 

      It was morning before Yuri thought to check in on Mila. He staggered from his bedroom around noon, somewhat pleased about how minor his hangover seemed to be. The apartment wasn’t silent; there were signs of life in the kitchen, where Katsudon was making breakfast for Viktor and Otabek. Otabek had spent the night on the couch, but in spite of this looked the best out of the bunch – it was almost enough that Yuri wondered if he should abstain from drinking, too.

      “Where’s Phichit?” Yuri asked, realizing that the other houseguest was absent. Katsudon smirked over his shoulder.

      “He walked Seung-gil back to the hotel last night and texted me about five minutes after leaving here to say that he was gonna stay there for the night.”

      “Ugh,” Yuri said, grabbing a glass for water. He should’ve guessed; Seung-gil was almost as affectionate drunk and Viktor and Katsudon were.

      “You went to bed early with Makka, didn’t you?” Viktor asked.

      Yuri gave him a withering stare. “I’m not a lightweight, I’m a growing boy.”

      Viktor chuckled. “I wasn’t going to say anything, I was just wondering if you want to know what happened after you went to bed.”

      Curious but cautious, Yuri sat in the chair next to Otabek and stole a sip of his coffee. “Alright…”

      Katsudon put a plate of crepes on the table and returned to the stove, but not before bumping Viktor with his hip and saying, “Don’t tease, baby.”

      Yuri groaned. “I’m going back to bed.”

      “Wait, I was about to tell you!”

      Otabek took his coffee back from Yuri. “You’re probably wondering about the girls, right?”

      “Yurio likes girls?” Viktor asked around a mouthful of crepe.

      Yuri kicked Viktor under the table. “Трахните свой блестящий лоб!”

      Katsudon called, “No swearing at the breakfast table!” just as Otabek laughed, “That doesn’t even make sense, Yura.”

      “Will someone please just tell me what the f- what _happened_ with Mila and Sara?” Yuri asked, taking Otabek’s coffee again. “Hey, how do you drink this sugary shit, Beka?”

      “It’s supposed to keep you from stealing it. So you know how you came and told me that they’d disappeared?”

      Yuri walked into the kitchen and Katsudon handed him an empty mug. “Yeah?”

      "Well they were apparently on the balcony.”

      “ _My_ balcony?” Viktor interrupted.

      “Quiet, old man, Beka’s talking.”

      Otabek shrugged as Yuri sat back down next to him with a mug of black coffee. “I really don’t know details. They didn’t let go of each other for the rest of the night, though.”

      “I don’t remember any of that.”

      “Probably because you grabbed the dog went straight to your room as soon as Chris got ahold of the music.” Katsudon smirked, finally sitting next to Viktor with a plate of eggs and a cup of tea.

      Yuri sniffed. “You don’t want poor Makkachin corrupted by Chris’ stripper music, do you?” Makkachin, hearing his name, barked and Katsudon laughed.

      “Anyway, why are you two so concerned with Mila and Sara, anyway?” Viktor asked. “Aren’t they dating?”

      “They’re what now?” Yuri spluttered, burning his tongue on the big gulp of coffee he’d accidentally taken.

      “Yeah? Hang on, let me find it…” Viktor said, pulling his phone from his pocket. After a moment of scrolling in silence, he passed the phone to Yuri. There, open to Mila’s profile on Instagram, was a selfie she’d taken with Sara – Sara with her arms around Mila’s waist, lips on her cheek. The caption read ‘ _Italians are great kissers_ ’.

      Otabek was looking over Yuri’s shoulder. “See if Sara posted anything?”

      Curious, Yuri clicked the tag over Sara’s face. Sure enough, there was a recent post on her page, too. This one showed Mila holding Sara up over her head, both of them rosy-cheeked and grinning. The caption on this one said ‘ _get yourself a strong girlfriend_!’ with a smattering of bicep and heart emojis.

      It seemed fitting, to have the story continue the way it had started with an Instagram post. Naturally, Phichit had been tagged with photo credit, and there was a host of familiar faces in the comments.

_@phichit+chu: wow about time girls!!!!_

_@mickey-crispino: sei solo amici però?_

_@sala-crispino: [replying to mickey-crispino] no, we’re dating!_ J

      “I guess that settles it, then.” Otabek said, taking the phone and passing it back to Viktor.

      “Why are you two so interested in their relationship, anyway?” Katsudon asked.

      Otabek’s cheeks turned pink. “It’s – ah, it’s all Yura, I was just trying to help him.”

      Yuri scowled. “After all the help and advice I gave her, she didn’t even give me a thank you! I let her tell me about Sara’s boobs at three in the morning!”

 

❣

               

      Yuri got all the recognition he expected to be granted when Yakov inexplicably allowed Mila to fly to Naples for Sara’s twenty-third birthday in September. Below a horribly sweet set of pictures of Mila and Sara kissing in various locations and the birthday cake Mila had ordered for Sara’s birthday, Mila had typed out a sappy message:

_@mila-babicheva: I’m so lucky to be able to say that the incomparable Sara Crispino is my girlfriend. I think I’ve loved her since we first met back in Junior’s, a fact my friends knew before I did! Though we’ve only been dating for five months, these have easily been the best five months in my recent memory. Can you believe it took me four months of waxing poetic about you to my friends to realize that you’re the only girl for me? Thank god my friends saw the truth and pointed me in the right direction – and thank god you welcomed my lovesick blundering with open arms!!! It’s not always easy, living in different countries and competing against each other, but I wouldn’t trade this for the world. Sara, you’re my rock, the sunshine when the day is cloudy, the sweetest most supportive girl I know. I’m so happy to be here in Italy to celebrate your 23 rd birthday, and though I’ll be back in Russia competing soon, this is all that matters right now. Happy Birthday, baby, I love you so much!_

**Author's Note:**

> It's not only been fun for me (a wlw) to write a wlw relationship, but I've also had the chance to explore Yuri's personality. I've been writing this on and off since late summer 2017, and I'm so excited to have it finished and here to share with all of you! Mila/Sara fics always seem to be in demand, but I know there's a high caliber of cohesive, compelling story to live up to.  
> Let me know what you thought of this in the comments, or hit me up on my [YOI tumblr  ](https://peachy-chulanont.tumblr.com/)!  
> Thank you guys so, so much for reading, and have a lovely happy new year ☆♥❀✳☀


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